University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) CHAPTER 5 A NARRATOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE BABYLONIAN GILGAMESH EPIC ACCORDING TO THE MODEL OF G. GENETTE 1980 Introduction Only Tablets I - XI of the Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic feature for the purpose of a narratological analysis. The reasons for this were put forward in chapter 2 of this thesis: Tablets I - XI narrate events that have a bearing on one another. Furthermore, these events begin and end on the same place, on the walls of Uruk. This chapter appropriates Genette's (1980) model for a narratological analysis to the Standard Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic. 1. Narrative, story, narrating According to Genette (1980:25-27) narrative (French recit) has three different meanings. The first obvious reference is to the narrative statement, also called the narrative. This denotes the discourse itself, oral or written, which recounts a series of events. Narrative statement, or plainly narrative pertains to the very words of the text, whether they are written down or whether they are recited aloud. These are the cuneiform signs on the broken tablets of the Standard Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic. Secondly there are events that succeed one another, also called the story. These events could be either real or fictitious, and have bearing on what happened from the beginning to the end. The way in which these events are recounted - whether they follow one another chronologically or whether the order is interrupted in some way or another - is not taken into account. The story of Gilgamesh (in the Standard Babylonian Version) starts with what he did in Uruk, continues successively with all the events that followed, and ends with 5–118 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) his return to his city. The story in this sense refers to the history outside of the text but which gave rise to the text: what really happened and when? Thirdly someone is needed to recount the event, also called narrating. This implies the action of telling, and pertains to the narrating instance. Who is telling about Gilgamesh and how is it done? Bal (1986:13-15) elaborates on similar distinctions which she calls tekst (i.e. the narrative statement), geschiedenis (i.e. the story), and verhaal (i.e. narrating). However, as far as the latter is concerned, she stresses more the way in which the events are recounted rather than the action of telling of the events. Thus, in a very basic sense a narrative analysis should bear in mind (i) what is actually said or written, (ii) the actual sequence of the events that are recounted, and (iii) who is telling the story and in what way. An analysis of narrative discourse is constantly aware of the different aspects of narrative, but has to remember that they are intimately interrelated (Bal 1986:15; Genette1980:27). Although the aspects are taken apart and examined individually for the purpose of analysis, they cannot be separated from one another. 2. Analysis of narrative discourse: tense, mood, and voice Genette (1980:31) chooses three classes of determinations in which to organise the analysis of a narrative discourse. Tense deals with temporal relations between narrative and story. Mood deals with forms and degrees of narrative representation. Voice deals with the way in which the narrating is connected to the narrative. Voice thus has bearing on the interrelationships between both narrating/narrative and narrating/story. However, voice pertains not only to the narrator or to the narrating instance, but also to the addressees, real or implied. Tense and mood both come into play at the level of interrelationships between story and narrative. These rather confusing inter 5–119 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) relationships will become clearer in their appropriation to the narratological analysis of the Epic of Gilgamesh. 2.1. Tense: order, duration, and frequency Under the heading of Time or Tense Genette (1980) discusses the following categories: Order, Duration and Frequency. Also these categories will be discussed and applied to the Epic of Gilgamesh where they are relevant. 2.1.1. Order Genette (1980:35) explains as follows: Order determines the connections between the succession of events in the story and the way in which they are arranged in the narrative (i.e. the pseudo-temporal arrangement). A story usually consists of significant events that follow one another successively. When the succession of events in the story corresponds to the order in which they are recounted in the narrative, it is simply a matter of chronological time. That is to say, the order of the narrative discourse indicates more or less clearly the order of the story events. However, this is seldom the case in narratives. A perfect temporal correspondence between narrative and story exists very rarely in narrative discourse. More often than not, the chronological succession of events is interrupted in some way or another. Anachrony is the term Genette (1980:35&36) uses to indicate the various types of discordance between the story and the narrative. The most common way for interrupting a narrative is by means of inserting events that happened a long time ago, or by means of creating anticipation for what is to come. In this regard Genette (1980:40) chooses to avoid the traditional terms like anticipation or retrospection in order to describe the way in which the narrative is being interrupted, as these may be subjective phenomena. He uses prolepsis (for) “any narrative manoeuvre that consists of narrating or evoking in advance any event that will take place later; analepsis 5–120 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) (for) any evocation after the fact of an event that took place earlier than the point in the story where we are at a given moment and ... anachronism to designate all forms of discordance between the two temporal orders of story and narrative...” (Genette 1980:40). In other words, and drastically oversimplified, prolepses pertain to what may happen, analepses pertain to what has happened, and anachrony is a total mix up of all the tenses and times in both story and narrative. So, anachronies are inserted into and disrupt the primary narrative (Genette 1980:48). narratives In this way a second narrative is created. First and second are Genette’s way to distinguish different temporal levels of narrative. However, it is important to note that the denotations first and second narratives do not indicate that one is more important than the other (cf. Genette 1988:28&29); on the contrary, second narratives are extremely valuable for understanding the first one. Furthermore, anachronies consist of a reach and of an extent (Genette 1980: 47&48). From the moment of interruption in the narrative discourse, an anachrony may reach into the past or into the future, that is, what did happen or what is going to happen. Anachronies also cover a duration of story, that is, how long did the event last, or how long is it going to last. This is called the extent of the analepsis or of the prolepsis. In other words, order has to do with the interruption of the primary narratives by one or more secondary narratives. The latter has bearing on events that happened either a long time before or a long time after the former, or on events that are taking place simultaneously with those that are being narrated in the first instance. These secondary narratives have their own narratological time span, or extent, and they usually influence the primary narrative in some significant manner. 5–121 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) A tense moment in the Standard Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: the opening line The opening line of the Epic poses a serious problem: the transliterations of Parpola and George differ significantly. As I have stated, these kinds of differences do not affect the narrative as such, however, this very first one has implications for a structural narratological analysis. Parpola Parpola (1997) reconstructs this first line as follows: ša nagba īmuru lušēdi māti According to this rendering the parsing of lušēdi is the s-stem of the verb idû(m): to know. The preposing particle lu together with the preterite expresses a desired action. In Old Babylonian it occurs with the first person singular (li- in third person singular and plural when it unites with the initial vowel of the verbal form)(see Caplice 1988:40; Von Soden 1969:105-106). Consequently the first line reads - according to Parpola’s transliteration: I:1 ša nagba īmuru lušēdi māti Of the Deep that he saw, I must tell the land According to this transliteration, the Epic of Gilgamesh (Standard Babylonian Version, from now abbreviated SBV) seems to be an analepsis and a prolepsis simultaneously from its very beginning. Although strictly speaking the first narrative is not interrupted, it also has not started yet. But the story that is about to be told, happened a long time ago. This anachrony reaches into the past and into the future, and is introduced by a narrating instance: I. Someone (I) is going to tell of events that occurred before his (my) time. (Denning-Bolle [1992:47] also translates the first line as He who saw everything I want to make known to my land.) 5–122 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) This narrating instance disappears from the scene immediately after I:1, and never does he utter the words I remember..., in fact, he plays no part in the story or in the narrative at all. The analepsis and prolepsis are both impersonal - in this sense Genette’s categories are certainly more useful than anticipation or retrospection. This is not a personal remembrance: the person concerned is out of the events that occurred, he is only about to disclose them. He is also not disclosing an event that will take place later: what is going to happen is the narrative itself. The narrative is not a remembrance of past things: what is going to occur, is vivid in the present. Past, present and future meet at the walls of Uruk. Genette (1980) does not have a separate category for place; he prefers to incorporate the significance of location into his analyses of time, mood and voice. Nevertheless, the city of Uruk, especially the walls are of major importance in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV). In the prologue the narrator who remains an anonymous voice for the rest of the narrative, invites a (anonymous) narratee to come and have a stroll on the top of these magnificent walls, to look down on the city and its surroundings, and to admire the beauty and splendour of everything (I: 16-21). In the closing lines of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) king Gilgamesh himself invites the boatman Urshanabi to do exactly the same (XI: 315-320). From the top of these walls an analepsis is triggered and is sustained - albeit unnoticed - throughout the whole narrative until it catches up with its own past: the present of king Gilgamesh. Thus, one ends up exactly where one started: on the walls of Uruk. But the prologue is also a prolepsis, pertaining to events after the return of the king (I: 1- 45). It tells of Gilgamesh as a good king, one who is brave and wise, and it refers to a wisdom acquired only after he had seen the Deep. On the other hand, the Epic itself tells of a young and arrogant king who abuses his power brutally, who acts unwisely an immature, who becomes confused and frightened after the death of his friend, and who goes in search for something 5–123 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) which every reader instinctively knows, is a futile quest. Only after he accepts that he had lost, only after failing miserably every test for acquiring life eternal, he returns to his city as the mature and sober ruler to whom the prologue refers. Thus, also the prolepsis is continued and sustained throughout the narrative. Gilgamesh is back in Uruk, he has learnt a hard lesson, but now he is ready to reign as king in a more mature way. True enough, in a technical sense the prologue is neither a true analepsis nor a true prolepsis. Both analepses and prolepses are supposed to interrupt the first narrative with a second one (Genette 1980:48). But somehow past, present and future seem to merge on the walls of Uruk to create a kind of timelessness, already at the very beginning of the Epic. George George (2003:538) transliterates the first line of the Epic as follows: ša nagba īmuru išdī māti he who saw the Deep, the foundation of the country In this case išdī simply refers to the foundation of the country. George adheres to a conservative interpretation. He admits that the basis of the country (:445) may be interpreted metaphorically, that it may refer to the Deep, therefore agreeing with the abstract notion of wisdom. Furthermore, he also admits that mātu is not a synonym of ereţu: the former signifies the land as a collection of people whereas the latter indicates the earth as a concrete object. Thus, the very first lines of the Epic could be read in an abstract, rather than in a literal way: a kind of wisdom that is indispensable to all human beings, is at stake. George bases his transliteration on convention. Apparently the expression išdī māti was used to indicate the stability of the land or to keep the land stable (George 2003:778). According to this transliteration the opening lines simply form part of the summary of Gilgamesh’s achievements. They have nothing to 5–124 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) do with the narrator’s personal interests in the matter. Therefore, George’s transliteration is sober, less impressive, but perhaps more reliable. I have seen these opening lines, and it really is impossible to discern whether the second to last word should read lušēdi or išdī māti. Perhaps one should leave this debate to scholars versed in cuneiform. George (2003:778) states: Much fantasy has indeed been brought to bear on the text’s incipit, for the situation has changed only very recently, with the discovery of RM 956, a new piece of MS d. This fragment demonstrates that for the past century, ever since Haupt’s copy identified the first line on MS B3 as SB I 1, readers of the epic have been telescoping into one couplet what is in fact two parallel couplets...Though some ideas put forward for these opening lines are more attractive than others, there is often little to choose between them. It also remains eminently possible in each case that none of them is right. The recovery of I.1 is a case in point, for none of the many suggestions had come close to išdī māti, and we are reminded how perilous it is to restore all but the most predictable lines of this poem. In many lines, here and elsewhere, I thus prefer to leave open to the question of restoration. Thus, it seems that one guess is as good as another. I would be inclined to agree with George’s more conservative approach, however, Parpola’s rendering certainly provides a much more romantic and imaginative reading of the Epic. But this section deals with a structural analysis and not with a readerorientated one, therefore the validity of the two readings and the reliability of the different sources will not be discussed further. Analepsis Analepses can become quite complex. Genette (1980:49) distinguishes an external, an internal and a mixed analepsis. An external analepsis is one “whose entire extent remains external to the extent of the first narrative”. Thus, the external analepsis reaches back before the starting point of the narrative 5–125 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) and also ends before that. An internal analepsis falls within the extent of the first narrative, reaching back later than the starting point and may or may not catch up with the point in the narrative where it originated. A mixed analepsis reaches back to a point earlier than the starting point of the narrative and its extent arrives at a point later than the beginning of the first narrative. External and internal analepses function in different ways for the purpose of narrative analysis. 1) External analepsis External analepses do not meddle with the first narrative. Their function is only to inform the reader about something that had happened before. Uta- napishtim’s recount of the Deluge qualifies as an external analepsis: the whole cataclysm occurred long before Gilgamesh became king of Uruk. However, its function is not only to inform the reader about the flood. It also stresses the whole matter of Gilgamesh’s futile search for immortality. The Deluge was a unique event that gave one human family - Uta-napishtim and his wife - the opportunity to live forever. The story of the flood is Uta-napishtim’s, it has nothing to do with Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh cannot benefit from what happened long ago. He, like all other human beings are born to die someday. There is no way that this fate can be averted. Thus the informative function of this second narrative is loaded with meaning that extends beyond the scope of the whole Epic: it pertains to life itself. 2) Internal analepsis Internal analepses are somewhat more problematical. These second narratives are embedded in the temporal field of the first narrative, therefore they might interfere with it by means of collision or redundancy (Genette 1980:50). Genette (1980:51&51), distinguishes between internal heterodiegetic and internal homodiegetic analepses. 5–126 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) i) Internal heterodiegetic analepsis Internal heterodiegetic analepses are “analepses dealing with a story line (and thus with a diegetic content) different from the content (or contents) of the first narrative” (Genette 1980:50). This means that the second narrative differs from the first one, although they coincide temporally. These internal heterodiegetic analepses do not normally interfere with the story line of the first narrative, as their usual function is to shed light on the past of a character that has been introduced recently, or on one who has been out of sight for some time. The Epic of Gilgamesh does have a few such internal heterodiegetic analepses. Enkidu becomes human after he and Shamhat made love for six days and seven nights, apparently without stop. Thereafter his earlier friends, the animals reject him and he returns to Shamhat to learn his purpose in life. She tells him that he is to go to Uruk to meet king Gilgamesh. Enkidu immediately wants to challenge the king and show him who is the stronger one, but Shamhat remembers the two dreams that Gilgamesh had. She recalls that Gilgamesh had these dreams before Enkidu came down from the hills, and when he woke up, he told his mother what he had dreamed (I:226-241; I:259264): heavy objects fell from the heaven and he was unable to pick them up. What is interesting in this case is that the distinction between first and second narrative becomes rather unclear. From the very beginning the first narrative proposed to record the story of king Gilgamesh of Uruk. But at some stage in the narrative discourse the Shamhat/Enkidu episode became quite spontaneously and without any abrupt interruptions part of a first narrative: the creation of Enkidu and his existence on the steppe until the prostitute came to change everything. The internal heterodiegetic analepses - the dreams - are occurring now as though they are interrupting a seemingly primary narrative. The contents are different from the present story line. 5–127 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) However, the events that are remembered have a bearing on what really is the first narrative - the story of Gilgamesh. In the nearby future the Shamhat/Enkidu episode will once again blend smoothly and unproblematically with the Gilgamesh-narrative and becomes so part of it, that one wonders whether this constitutes a second narrative at all. These heterodiegetic analepses are inserted back into the primary narrative where they do actually belong when Gilgamesh and Enkidu meet and fight like young bulls. However, after this initial clash, they become firm friends. But at some stage during the friendship, Enkidu becomes depressed. At seeing his friend becoming depressed, Gilgamesh suggests that they go down to the Cedar Forest to slay Humbaba. Rather panic-stricken Enkidu remembers the earlier days when he had actually encountered the presence of the monster (II:170-174). This remembrance is also an internal heterodiegetic analepsis: Enkidu’s early days, although they coincide temporally with the story line of Gilgamesh, play no significant part in the Epic, and they have a different content altogether. Very little detail is given about these days, except that Enkidu lived and grazed like an animal. Now, by means of a chiastic structure this remembrance that is only Enkidu’s, is repeated as an urgent warning (II:189-193): Humbaba is extremely dangerous. In this way the initial internal heterodiegetic analepsis is once again drawn into the first narrative and becomes part of the story line. ii) Internal homodiegetic analepses Internal homodiegetic analepses are “internal analepses that deal with the same line of action as the first narrative” (Genette 1980:51). (1980:51-54) distinguishes between completing homodiegetic analepses. 5–128 Genette and iterative internal University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) iii) Completing internal homodiegetic analepsis Simple ellipsis Completing analepses fill in “gaps” in the narrative by means of simple ellipses, or “breaks” in the temporal continuity (Genette 1980:51). Rephrased this means that certain events are left out and remembered later to fill in those missing “gaps” in time. If one - perhaps hypothetically - considers Gilgamesh’s dreams now for the time being as part of the same narrative, one would have a case of internal homodiegetic analepses which fill in the “gap” between Gilgamesh’s terrorisation of his people and the coming of Enkidu. Despite his arrogant attitude, Gilgamesh is rather lonesome and desperately longs for a friend. Although he was chosen by the gods for this task, being king is a lonely business. In the end it must be said that, considering these dreams as internal analepses - whether they be hetero- or homodiegetic - is a hypothetical matter. The Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) is not very specific about time at all. For example, say the tyranny of the city started in 2356 BCE, perhaps sometime during August and Enkidu was created the following August in 2355 BCE. Sometime later Shamhat and Enkidu sat down and talked on a Sunday in June 2346 BCE. Suddenly Shamhat remembered a dream that Gilgamesh had on another Sunday night in June 2350 BCE that made her think. But nothing of the kind. One can merely assume that Gilgamesh dreamed of Enkidu after the latter had been created: one can merely assume that the creation of Enkidu took place after the starting point of the Epic. However, one runs into trouble if one tries to work out their ages. Then one needs to assume otherwise, namely, that Gilgamesh, the very young child dreamed about Enkidu, before his reign of terror started in Uruk. Everything changes, and the dreams become pure external analepses, also fulfilling the function of a prolepsis. 5–129 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) Paralipsis The second type of a completing analepsis Genette (1980:52) calls a paralipsis. Just like an ellipsis, a paralipsis also fills in “gaps”, however, in this case an event or a person is deliberately sidestepped or not mentioned at all. Paralipses usually pertain to traumatic events or to persons who caused these events from a character’s past, events and people he or she wishes to forget because the memories are too painful. It is very difficult to ascertain whether the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) contain any paralipses. There are certainly many gaps: perhaps the closest one can get to a paralipses is the many references Gilgamesh makes in Tablet VI to Ishtar’s misfortunate lovers. Obviously his words brought back memories that she would rather forget, she was hurt and insulted by what he had said. But, besides for the reference to Tammuz, the reader is kept in the dark with regards to the other painful events. Presumably the ancient recipients knew what they were. Nevertheless, there do not appear to be deliberate repressions of other painful experiences. A trauma like Enkidu’s untimely death is openly lamented: in fact, Gilgamesh’s elegy is repeated time and again - as the next section will illustrate. iv) Iterative internal homodiegetic analepsis Iterative internal homodiegetic analepses are also called repeating analepses (Genette 1980: 54). These ellipses deal with several portions of elapsed time as if they were alike. In Genette’s discussion (cf. Genette 1980:53-61) it becomes obvious that the nouveau roman appropriates this device for different purposes than ancient literature did. However, the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) does have significant repetitive recalls. 5–130 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) After the death of Enkidu, Gilgamesh roams the plains on his way to Utanapishtim, in search of everlasting life. He passes through the tunnel of Shamash/the sun, and he reaches the seashore where Siduri the barmaid lives. She inquires after his mission, Enkidu, and he gives her a very long explanation: his friend whom he loved dearly, and with whom he did several remarkable heroic deeds, had died tragically (X:48-75). This is exactly the same explanation that he gives to Urshanabi, the boatman of Uta-napishtim (X:122-146 - lines 64,69 and 73 are omitted in the reply to Urshanabi). And this reply is repeated to Uta-napishtim (X:221-248). Gilgamesh’s repetitive answer stresses his obsessive thoughts on death and dying, his obsession with everlasting life. To every question he has only one answer that actually becomes quite boring after a while. But he really has nothing else to say. In this regard Genette (1980:54) points out that these repeating analepses may become redundant. This is a valid question as one does become fed-up with Gilgamesh who is unable to snap out of it. Nevertheless, these repetitions do stress his pain over his deceased friend and also the obsessive-compulsive nature of his reasoning. But another thing is brought to the foreground: his perspective has changed. Those heroic deeds - slaying Humbaba, the Bull of Heaven, hunting down lions - which he used to boast about, are now painful reminiscences. Life without Enkidu has no meaning at all. Driven by sorrow and his fear for death, the only way to continue for Gilgamesh is by means of conquering death itself. He needs to obtain everlasting life. But he fails to see the paradox: if it would become possible for him to live forever, he would have to do so without Enkidu anyway. Perhaps the fear would gradually diminish and eventually go away, but the sorrow would remain. Gilgamesh rejects the advice given him by the barmaid and Uta-napishtim, advice that boils down to: death is inevitable. Gilgamesh, you are going to die, sooner or later. But in the meanwhile, until that fateful event occurs, you are alive, you have a life that needs to be lived an even to be enjoyed whilst it lasts. 5–131 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) v) Mixed analepsis A last question Genette (1980:61) asks with regard to analepses pertains to mixed analepses, to the way in which analepses interrupt and then rejoin the first narrative. A partial analepsis ends on an ellipsis without rejoining the first narrative. Thus, there is a “gap” between the end of the analepsis and the beginning of the first narrative. If one assumes that Gilgamesh dreamed about Enkidu whilst he was merely an infant - that is before the starting point of the Epic - there is a portion of his life about which nothing is known, therefore an ellipsis. The intervening period of his growing up, or the way in which he became king is seemingly not relevant to the Epic at all. (But this reasoning would not apply to the assumption that Gilgamesh dreamed about Enkidu after he became king of Uruk, because in this case the dream becomes an internal homodiegetic analepsis.) A complete analepsis is an external one which rejoins the first narrative and becomes part of the narrative discourse without any “gap” between the ends of the analepsis and the beginning of the narrative. In other words, the external analepsis overlaps with the starting point of the narrative. This type of analepsis does not feature in the Epic of Gilgamesh. However, if his growing up years had been recounted, perhaps explaining why his reign became one of terror in its early years, this might have been a case of complete analepsis. But the early years of Gilgamesh remain a mystery. Prolepsis Genette (1980:67) states that “anticipation, or temporal prolepsis, is clearly less frequent than the inverse figure, at least in Western narrative tradition”, but admits that “each of the three great early epics, the Iliad, the Odyssey and the Aeneid begins with a sort of anticipatory summary that to a certain extent justifies the formula Todorov applied to the Homeric narrative: plot of 5–132 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) predestination.” Obviously Genette has not heard of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV), furthermore this narrative is not really a plot of predestination, and the prologue (I:1-45) is not only an anticipatory summary. The narrator does propose to make known to all and everyone everything that Gilgamesh has learnt (Parpola, I:1-2), it is about to tell about his search into faraway regions, the difficult paths that he had trod, his discovery of what had been before the Deluge, the secrets of ancient times, and his heroic manner of conducting battle. It is even going to tell of his encounter with Uta-napishtim. Yet this is a tale of the past, what is to be disclosed is not going to take place, everything happened a long time ago. Therefore it should be noted once again that the prologue of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) is neither purely proleptic nor purely analeptic, but rather a unique mixture of both. Prolepses hold the same distinctions as analepses. Prolepses are internal, external or mixed (Genette 1980:68) 1) External prolepsis External prolepses reach beyond the scope of the first narrative - in other words, these would pertain to episodes that take place after the closing point of the story, and they do not interfere with the first narrative. Thus the prologue of the Epic of Gilgamesh - if one does not merely regard this as an anticipatory summary - qualifies as a type of external prolepsis (cf. the discussion under the heading anachrony): only after Gilgamesh saw the Deep, he became the wise and mature king who is lauded in the prologue. But besides the prologue, nothing else is recorded about these prosperous years of reign. 2) Internal prolepsis Internal prolepses, just like internal analepses do interfere with the story line of the first narrative. In this regard the category of internal heterodiegetic prolepsis is not applicable, for whether anticipation is external or internal, it 5–133 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) would have a different interest than the first narrative. As far as internal homodiegetic prolepses are concerned, Genette (1908:71) differentiates between completing and repeating prolepses. i) Completing prolepsis Completing prolepses “fill ahead of time a later blank” (Genette 1980:71). In a very uncertain sense Enkidu’s vision of hell (VII:165-202) may qualify as an example of such a prolepsis. As Enkidu lies dying, he has a dream in which he is seized by a bird-like, beast-like young man who drags him down to the Netherworld. If one disregards tablet XII as part of the Epic, Enkidu’s time after his death is filled in by this episode. ii) Repeating prolepsis Most of the prolepses in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) are in the form of dreams and fall into Genette’s category of “those that - still ahead of time double, however slightly, a narrative section to come (repeating prolepses)” (Genette 1980:71). This appears to be more intricate than it seems at first, because Genette (1980:75) also states that true prolepses do create anticipation and should not be confused with advance notices and advance mentions. Especially because one is dealing with an ancient text like the Epic of Gilgamesh, and especially because Akkadian is not one’s first language, it is very difficult to ascertain the exact notice of each utterance. What seems to be an anticipation for one person, may just as well be an advance notice for another. Therefore, unfortunately one has to guess. So, back to the dreams of Gilgamesh whilst Shamhat is instructing Enkidu on his purpose in life: to befriend the restless young king of Uruk. Gilgamesh dreamed of Enkidu some time ago, and his mother, the clever and wise Ninsun, explained these dreams: some time in the future, he is to meet a loyal and trustworthy friend, in her eyes, his equal (I:250-255; I:267-269). At 5–134 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) this stage the reader is not supposed to know that Gilgamesh and Enkidu are going to become blood brothers. Gilgamesh has just been portrayed by the narrator as the arrogant young king who abuses his power: the women have in the meanwhile prayed for the creation of his double in order to have his energy curbed. Enkidu is the answer to their prayers, but no one knows for certain what the result will be when Enkidu does meet Gilgamesh and challenge his strength. Ninsun’s explanation, although she is a goddess, still has to be put to the test. Therefore, in these instances anticipation is created, and these passages do qualify as internal completing prolepses. However, not all dreams are internal completing prolepses. The next series of dreams are the ones that Gilgamesh has as he and Enkidu travel towards the Cedar Woods to slay Humbaba (tablet IV). Every time that they pitch camp for the night, they perform rituals in order to provoke a dream, however, for Gilgamesh these dreams turn out to be nightmares. He relates his dreams to Enkidu, who tells him soothingly every time that he has nothing to worry about, and that everything will work out just fine. The first question one needs to ask, is whether or not Gilgamesh’s recounting of his dreams could also be regarded as analepses as well. The answer is no. The lapse of time between the event and its recall is simply too short. Gilgamesh vividly remembers the dream as he wakes up shivering and upset. The same argument holds for the dream Enkidu has about his own death. These dreams are recounted as soon as they happened, therefore they have the sense of the immediate presence rather than an aspect of retrospective remembrance. However, these five dreams of Gilgamesh in tablet IV do create anticipation: the reader is aware of the ferocious nature of the monster, and is also aware of the fact that the two heroes are acting against the will of the god Enlil who appointed Humbaba to guard the Cedar Woods. Yes, Ninsun has asked Shamash for the protection of her son (II:42-56), but will he do so? Anything 5–135 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) might still happen. This feeling of anticipation increases when Shamash himself urges the two heroes to hurry towards the woods (IV:192-197) and carry out their intentions. It is almost as though the combat has taken on cosmic dimensions, a struggle between two gods who use the heroes and the monster as their pawns: Gilgamesh and Enkidu on the side of Shamash, and Humbaba on the side of Enlil. The last matter of prolepsis concerns Enkidu’s dream about his own death. Whether this is a true prolepsis can be doubted, because once again, very soon after he realises the implication of his dream, he becomes ill. Nevertheless, one cannot know how many days, weeks, and months or even years elapsed between VII:1 and VII:162 - that is from the beginning of the dream until the illness becomes full-blown. rebellious, cursing all and everyone, In between Enkidu becomes unwilling to accept his fate. Then, reprimanded by Shamash, he withdraws his curse on Shamhat. Only after that does he become really ill. Nevertheless, this passage does not seem to create the same sense of anticipation, because this dream comes true fairly quickly after it is recounted. And it comes rather as a shock: after Gilgamesh and Enkidu slew Humbaba, after they killed the Bull of Heaven, the gods decide that one of them shall die - an untimely and tragic end to a sincere and deep friendship. Therefore this dream does not create anticipation, one should rather say it gives a sad advance notice. Achrony Genette (1980:83) defines achronies as “proleptic analepses” and “analeptic prolepses”, paraphrased as follows: “It would happen later as we have already seen,” or: “It had already happened, as we shall see later.” The initial remarks on the prologue of the Epic of Gilgamesh pointed out that it is an analepsis and a prolepsis at the same time, however, also that it does not qualify as a true example of either, therefore it is not a case of true achrony. Although the narrator appears to be saying “it had already happened as we shall see later”, 5–136 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) that which had happened is what he is going to tell about: the story that is going to become the narrative. This is different from isolated events which are being recalled and which will (or will not) interrupt the narrative at a later stage. Therefore, although the remote past becomes alive in the present of the reader, and although the Epic does create a feeling of timelessness, one cannot really say that present, past and future become confused. Remarks The ancient Epic of Gilgamesh succeeds in weaving its primary and secondary narratives in a masterly manner by means of its different devices with regards to order. This happens in a remarkable spontaneous and natural manner. Nothing is forced cerebrally. And that is exactly why it works. Together with the narrator the narratee moves along the lines of the narrative, now here, then there, sometimes in the middle of the action, sometimes outside and involved in events that took place many years before, of those that will only realise in the distant future. 2.1.2. Duration Genette’s later work (1988) is in a sense a defence of and a commentary on his earlier (1980) one. As far as duration is concerned, he notes that there are some levels of duration that are virtually impossible to compare with one another, therefore it is also impossible to ascertain the relationship between any of these (cf. Genette 1988:33-34). To begin with, the story has a specific duration: so many days, weeks, months or years, and so forth. These are recounted in the text: so many pages (or tablets in the case of the Epic of Gilgamesh [SBV]). However, the text needs to be read: so many pages (tablets) per hour. And due to the different circumstances and capabilities of different readers, duration expressed in terms of these relationships is very difficult, if not impossible. 5–137 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) In his 1988 work, Genette (1988:33) admits to a difference between an oral and a written text. An oral narrative - literary or not - does have a measurable duration: how long does it take to recite the narrative? The first oral Sumerian poems of Gilgamesh must have had a duration that perhaps could have been measured. As far as the later versions are concerned - the Old Babylonian Version and the Standard one - it is still unclear whether these were recited loudly or merely read or copied out quietly. However, even oral durations cannot be fixed for the simple reason that one person speaks slower or faster than another one. Even quoting dialogue into the narrative that is the closest one can get to the actual duration in the story, poses this problem (Genette 1980:87). So, the only way to measure the reading of the Epic of Gilgamesh is: how many clay tablets per hour, per day or even per week - a matter which obviously would vary greatly according to the reading skills in Akkadian of the different readers. Consequently, for these very variable and undeterminable matters, Genette (1988:33-34) prefers to use the term pseudo-time. Furthermore he proposes that his chapter in Narrative Discourse (1980) should bear the heading Speed instead of Duration, or perhaps even Speeds, since “no narrative moves forward at an entirely steady pace...” (Genette 1988:34). Thus, duration examines the connections between the variable duration of the story sections and the length of the text in which they are recounted (i.e. the pseudo-duration): duration pertains to connections of speed. The rhythm of a narrative is determined by the accordance or discordance between the duration of the story sections and the pseudo-duration. For example, there is considerable correspondence between dialogue in the story and its verbatim report in the narrative. But on the other hand, an expression like for six days and seven nights leaps over story-time within a few words to pleat time, as it were. Finally Genette (1980:88) states: “...it is hard to imagine the existence of a narrative that would admit no variation in speed - and even this banal observation is somewhat important: a narrative can do without anachronies, 5–138 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) but not without anisochronies or, if one prefers (as one probably does), effects of rhythm.” Anisochrony Anisochrony pertains to the rhythm of narrative discourse, the speed with which it moves forward or slows down. Narrated time as compared to narrating time - that is the duration of the story set against the length of the text - indicates the rhythm of narrative discourse. Genette (1980:95) distinguishes four basic forms of narrative movement that he calls the four narrative movements: pause, scene, summary and ellipsis. He postulates the following scheme: pause: NT = n, ST = 0 Thus NT oo > ST scene: NT = ST summary: NT < ST ellipsis: NT = 0, ST = n ST Thus NT < oo ST = story time; NT = pseudo-time of the narrative oo > = infinitely greater than; oo < = infinitely smaller than 1) Summary A summary is defined as “...the narration in a few paragraphs or a few pages of several days, months or years of existence, without details of action or speech” , (Genette 1980: 5&96). The narrative sums up what happened over a relatively long period in a relatively short way. Traditionally summaries functioned as a “transition between two scenes, the background against which scenes stand out,” (Genette 1980:97). summaries are necessary, however, For the flow of the narrative, they do not pertain to the dramatic moments of action or events. A typical summary would be something like: “The beautiful goddess Ninsun fell in love with the young and handsome king Lugalbanda of Uruk. They married 5–139 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) and had one son whom they called Gilgamesh. However, Lugalbanda died tragically in a battle against Enmerbaragesi whilst his son was but a baby. Gilgamesh grew up without the strict discipline of a father. His mother doted on him since he was the living image of his father, so he turned out to be rather something of a spoilt brat. Thus, when he was made king of Uruk, he started his reign by abusing his power brutally.” This type of summary seems absent in the Epic of Gilgamesh. Periods of time are either left out by means of ellipses (discussion follows), apparently because they are totally irrelevant, or otherwise acceleration is evented by means of scenes (see later). Genette (1980:97) notices the absence of true summaries also in Proust’s Recherche. Somehow, the ancient author just like Proust, decided against the use of this literary device just because it is available. Thus, it seems that many literary devices are at the disposal of authors, but that creative authors are not compelled to use them all. 2) Pause Pauses are traditionally those long descriptive passages in which no action takes place, for example a description of a beautiful garden, the picture of a landscape, or of the view of the snow on the mountains, and so forth. Strictly speaking, a true pause is when an external narrator describes a picture “solely for the information of his reader”, (Genette 1980:100). This implies that the inward thoughts of a character are not really pauses, because the narrative does not exactly come to a halt. The Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) does not have many such pauses. The closest one gets to a pause is in the beginning of tablet V. Gilgamesh and Enkidu completed the long journey towards the Cedar Forest, and have just arrived at its entrance. They stand still to admire the beauty of the trees. One gets the impression that a picture of beauty, peace and quiet is being created (V:1-16) [this description may even continue, but from line 11 the tablet is badly 5–140 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) damaged, therefore it is impossible to ascertain exactly how long this pause is]: the cedars are high, they decorate the slopes of the mountains where the gods live, they joyfully cast their sweet shadows, elsewhere there are aromatic smelling plants or shrubs. But within this serene presentation, Humbaba’s spoor (V:4) casts an ominous smudge. All is not what it seems: the proverbial calm before the storm. Later on the picturesque beauty of the Cedar Forest contrasts sharply with the ugly fight that takes place within: the fight between Humbaba on the one hand, and Gilgamesh and Enkidu on the other. This pause comes just after the long journey that comprises most of tablet IV. Now the narrative needs to take a deep breath after a period of travelling a long distance without stop, and before swinging back into action, before launching the deathly attack. Here the pause functions to highlight contrasts: the contrast between beauty and ugly; between stillness and movement. The initial dialogue between the men and the monster slowly but surely increases the tension by postponing the moment of the violent attack. As has been said, the text is badly damaged. However, the dialogue between Humbaba and the heroes can be reconstructed from V:81 to approximately line 103. The fight itself is described in V:115-126 - only eleven lines. Thereafter dialogue functions in an opposite way by slowing down the narrative as Humbaba desperately pleads for his life. And then, within one single line, the monster is beheaded. Tablet VIII is perhaps an indication of a very long pause. It commences with Gilgamesh who summons the whole of the land, the people, the animals, and the animate and inanimate objects to mourn the death of his friend. Everybody and everything pauses at the deathbed of Enkidu. Equally drawn out are the elaborations on the various gifts that are prepared to accompany Enkidu on his journey to the Netherworld. Enkidu has died. Everything must come to a standstill until the proper burial rites had been carried out. This whole tablet centres on the deceased Enkidu. One may conclude Tablet VIII, by 5–141 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) means of this very long pause, marks a transition between youthful self-reliance and the shocking realisation that even great accomplishments do not guarantee an everlasting life. The ideal of establishing an everlasting name by means of heroic deeds during one’s life is cancelled by the realisation that the very thread of life is to be cut at some point or another. Another pause or descriptive passage is at the end of tablet IX:175-195. Gilgamesh has passed through the tunnel of Shamash/the sun and finds himself at the seashore in the paradise where the trees and fruit are of semiprecious stone. This pause also functions to slow down the narrative, also after a period of very fast and intense movement. Gilgamesh’s journey towards this location was a desperate race against time. For eleven double hours he rushed forth at a deadly pace, seeing only darkness behind and in front of him. Suddenly he finds himself in bright daylight, and not far off is a beautiful paradise. Gilgamesh has time to catch his breath and admire his surroundings before he proceeds on his journey towards Utnapishtim. This pause is also followed by dialogue (the dialogue between Gilgamesh and Siduri), and then by a fight - the fight Gilgamesh picks up with Urshanabi, the boatman. But instead of being the hero, Gilgamesh turns out to be the fool this time: his only success is the destruction of the Stone Things without which the boat cannot pass the Waters of Death. And instead of beheading a monster that might have killed him, he faces the inevitability of his own death. 3) Ellipsis Genette (1980:106 states: “From a temporal point of view, the analysis of ellipses comes down to considering the story time elided”, that is, time in the story not accounted for in narrative discourse. There are two types of ellipses: definite ellipses and indefinite ellipses. Definite ellipses indicate the elided time, for example: “Four years and two months later...” Indefinite ellipses do not indicate temporal duration, for example, “Some years later...” 5–142 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) Furthermore ellipses can be explicit (Genette 1980:106), implicit (Genette 1980:108) or hypothetical (Genette 1980:109). i) Explicit ellipsis Explicit ellipses are either definite or indefinite and they pertain to the examples mentioned above. The narrative discourse states explicitly that some story time has passed; narrative time pleated itself over so many years, or some time. On the whole the narrative of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) is not really concerned about being specific on temporal elapses. Indications of time are specified by means of bēru (George 2003:494): bēru is an ambiguous term for it may indicate either a measure of time - usually translated with double hours or a measure of distance – then translated with league. In this regard one may state that the Epic of Gilgamesh is explicit with regards to temporal elapses, however, it is impossible to ascertain the exact duration. The other temporal indication occurs in the expression for six days and seven nights. However, this is rather an idiomatic utterance than one that has to do with a literal six days and seven nights - for example, a week later will simply not carry the same meaning as for six days and seven nights. ii) Implicit ellipsis Implicit ellipses are mute (Genette 1980:108). The reader has to work out for himself or herself that some indefinite time has elapsed, but can do so only indirectly after becoming aware of some chronological gap in narrative continuity. Ellipses of this kind do appear in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV), and the most obvious examples are in tablet I. Obviously a number of years had gone by since Enkidu’s creation by the goddess Aruru (I:84&85), until the time that he is spotted by the hunter (I:96). Nothing is said about Enkidu’s childhood, or of his growing up. Even if one assumes that he was created as a young adult from the start, this is merely a guess, and even then, he could not have been spotted by the hunter immediately after his creation: at least a day 5–143 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) or two must have gone by. A period of Enkidu’s life is not accounted for - thus an implicit and indefinite ellipsis. Likewise, after the raucous party with the shepherds, Enkidu becomes their friend who keeps watch at night, protecting their flock against wolves and lions (II:44-52). Suddenly a young man who is on his way to Uruk appears in the picture (II:53) and is questioned by Shamhat (on Enkidu’s request) to explain what is going on (II:54-63). The next scene is the fight between Gilgamesh and Enkidu in Uruk. Obviously Enkidu did not spend only one night at the camp of the shepherds, and also one may assume that he would not simply rush off to the big city without saying goodbye. Furthermore, the trip from the shepherds’ den to the centre of the city must have taken some hours at least, if not days or even weeks. Once again there is a period of time not accounted for, therefore an implicit and indefinite ellipsis. The whole of tablet IV tells about the long and exhausting journey towards the Cedar Forest. Tablet V recounts the fight between the two friends and Humbaba, and ends where Gilgamesh and Enkidu load their raft with wood and with the head of Humbaba (V:253). In the next tablet they are suddenly back in Uruk where the goddess Ishtar falls in love with Gilgamesh the moment she sees him (VI:1-7). Although they travel back by river that is apparently quicker than by land (why did they not do so in the first place?), the reader does not know how long did this journey take: months? hours, days, weeks, or An implicit and indefinite ellipsis. There may be another one or two examples of this kind. However, most probably these literary devices were not deliberately applied by the ancient author. Certainly, Enkidu’s early life before he became a human being was not important to this author, likewise he considered the time Enkidu spent with the shepherds and the time that it took to go to Uruk, irrelevant. Also the time that it took to travel back by river from the Cedar Forest to Uruk, is of no significance. It must be kept in mind that this author had existing material at his 5–144 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) disposal which he had to appropriate creatively in order to compose the Epic (SBV): this narrative is all about Gilgamesh, and if a time passes during which nothing significant happens, it is simply not worth the while to tell about it. 4) Scene Traditionally a scene pertains to “the strong periods of the action coinciding with the most intense moments of the narrative”, (Genette 1980:109). Scenes are moments of dramatic actions described in an equal dramatic way. The Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) is mainly written in the form of dramatic scenes alternating with dialogue. The first half of the Epic contain episodes of dramatic action, all portrayed intensely by means of scenes: Enkidu and Shamhat making love (I:171-177); the party with the shepherds (II:35-49); the fight between Gilgamesh and Enkidu (II:77-98); the fight with Humbaba (V:115-126); the fight with the Bull of Heaven (VI:145-152). Just like scenes, dialogues are supposed to be those narrative sections where story time equals narrative time. Dialogue, in this first half of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV), slows down the pace of narrative discourse, especially where long dialogues either precede or are followed by descriptions of rapid action. The long conversations with Humbaba before and after the fight (tablet V) are typical examples. The second half of the Epic contains hardly any action. Brief introductory remarks and dialogue characterise this part. Enkidu dies in tablet VII. Thereafter everything slows down. The pace of the narrative is drawn out almost excruciatingly by means of dialogue that becomes like a monotonous monologue as Gilgamesh laments Enkidu’s death. The only thing that really happens is Gilgamesh roaming the plains in search of everlasting life. Tablet VII starts with Enkidu’s dream (SBV) about his own death; both he and Gilgamesh verbalise their sorrow and fear by means of long dialogue. The 5–145 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) whole of tablet VIII tells of Enkidu’s funeral, mainly in the words of Gilgamesh as he calls up everybody to mourn his friend and prepare the various gifts for Enkidu to keep the inhabitants of the Netherworld happy. Tablet IX poses a problem: the lamentations of Gilgamesh remain, but apparently some action takes place between lines 12-38 (before he meets the Scorpion People). After having a dream, he takes up his axe and his sword again, (IX:13-16), but what he does with them, is unclear. The text is broken, and some lines (2936) are completely missing. In tablet X there is one brief moment of action as Gilgamesh tries to take Urshanabi by surprise (X:94-108). As Gilgamesh is introduced to Uta-napishtim, the latter philosophies about life and death (X:266-327), and the most of tablet XI is Uta-napishtim’s recount of the Deluge (XI:8-204). Gilgamesh fails the two tests for obtaining life eternal quickly and decisively, and abruptly returns to Uruk. Remarks Thus, this ancient narrative seems to have a concept of increasing or decreasing time: the heroic times of Gilgamesh and Enkidu are short, sudden and intense. Then, when Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh has too much time on hands, and the worst of it all is that nothing happens during this time. He has too much time to think. His obsessive thoughts drive him insane until he needs to be shocked back into reality: he is going to die anyway. All that he has left, is time, time during which he needs to work out a life which is meaningful for himself and for others. This life becomes visible on the walls of Uruk, a concrete and tangible monument by which he shall be remembered. Somehow he succeeded. 2.1.3. Frequency Frequency has bearing on the relationships between the events that occur repetitively in the story, and the many times (or lack of it) that they are 5–146 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) repeated in the narrative. In other words, this has to do with how many times did something really happen, and how many times is it reported in the narrative. Culler, in his foreword to Genette (1980:11) remarks: “Repetition, a common form of frequency, has emerged as the central technique in avant garde novels.” Narrative frequency pertains to “the relations of frequency (or more simply, of repetition) between the narrative and the diegesis,” (Genette 1980:113). This means that an event in the story may happen once, twice, or many more times. This event may be recounted in the narrative once, twice, or many more times. In this way a relationship is established between the repetition of story-events and the narrative statements pertaining to these events. In this regard Genette (1980:113) points out that “identical events” or the “recurrence of the same event” is an abstract mental construction, because every event is in fact unique, even the sun that rises everyday. Events are considered similar only in terms of their resemblance. Nevertheless he (Genette 1980:114) reduces a system of relationships to four virtual types: “the event repeated or not, the statement repeated or not.” This is expounded as follows: 1) Narrating once what happened once (abbr. 1N/1S) (Genette 1980:114). Example: “Yesterday I went to bed early.” This is also called the singulative narrative because both narrative statement and narrated event are singular and they correspond to each other. This is the most common type of narration in narrative discourse that is also appropriated in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV). The many scenes in the Epic fall into this category: the fight between Gilgamesh and Enkidu; the fight with Humbaba; the slaying of the Bull of Heaven, and so forth. What happened once is reported once only. 5–147 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) 2) Narrating n times what happened n times (nN/nS) (Genette 1980:114) Example: “Monday I went to bed early. Tuesday I went to bed early. Wednesday I went to bed early.” (Genette 1980:115). Strictly speaking this is also a singulative narrative because narrative statements correspond to narrated events: however Genette (1980:115) prefers to call this an anaphoric type of relationship. Singulative in this case pertains to the matter of equality, not to number: anaphoric relationships deal with something that occurred more than once and is narrated more than once. The repetitions in tablet IV in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) is an example of such an anaphoric relationship. The journey towards the Cedar Forest takes place in five stages: lines 1-20; 34-52 (line 6 is not repeated); 73-92; 109-129 (with the addition of line 113); 145-163. The same thing happens five times consecutively: for three days they travel a long distance, apparently without stopping. They pitch camp for the night and dig a well for some water. Then Gilgamesh climbs to the top of the hillside, pours out some flour as an offering and requests a dream from Shamash. Enkidu also performs some rituals and eventually they fall asleep. In the middle of their sleep, Gilgamesh wakes up trembling after a nightmare he has just had. The dream is different every time, but the explanation is the same: it is a good omen. Reading the same twenty lines five times over does become monotonous after a while. However, it becomes clear that Gilgamesh and Enkidu are not having a holiday or a pleasure trip for doing some sightseeing: they have one purpose in mind namely to slay Humbaba. Therefore they need to get to the Cedar Forest as fast as possible. The monotony of the journey and the set frame of their minds are stressed by means of this technique: tablet IV is not exactly the most exciting tablet in the Epic as nothing remarkable happens - they travel, eat, sleep and dream - but the repetitions in the tablet does have a remarkable effect. 5–148 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) The same thing happens in tablet IX when Gilgamesh departs from the Scorpion People to proceed through the tunnel of the (S)sun (IX:141-173). For eight double-hours everything remains exactly the same: the thick tangible darkness through which he races against time. However, in this series of repetitions, there is a turning point: at the ninth double-hour he becomes aware of the northern wind on his face (IX:165-166). The darkness is still the same and does not allow him to look behind him, and the race is not over yet, but things are about to change, hopefully for the better. Indeed, at the eleventh double-hour he realises that he is ahead of the (S)sun (IX:171-172), and the bright light appears at the twelfth double-hour (IX:173). By maintaining the sameness of the circumstances for eight double-hours, a favourable turn from the ninth one comes as a pleasant surprise. 3) Narrating n times what happened once (nN/1S) (Genette 1980:115) Example: “Yesterday I went to bed early; yesterday I went to bed early; yesterday I went to bed early.” Genette (1980:115) calls this a repeating narrative, and in this regard he remarks: “This form might seem purely hypothetical, an ill-framed offspring of the combinative mind, irrelevant to literature. Let us remember, however, that certain modern texts are based on the narrative’s capacity for repetition” and then he quotes examples from some of these modern texts. But the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) uses exactly this device in Gilgamesh’s long lamentations as he mourns the death of his friend, roaming the plains in search of everlasting life (see the discussion under the heading: iterative internal homodiegetic analepsis). Enkidu died once - Gilgamesh tells about it over and over. Just like the mentioned discussion points out, the recurring thoughts that pertain only to one matter, stresses an obsession and irrational behaviour. Gilgamesh manifests a major depression. He neglects his appearance, he is unable to 5–149 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) carry out his duties as king. He is driven by a flight from death towards a quest for life eternal, both flight and quest are equally futile. 4) Narrating one time (or rather at one time) what happened n times (1N/nS) (Genette 1980:116). Example: “Every day of the week I went to bed early” instead of “Monday I went to bed early, Tuesday I went to bed early, Wednesday I went to bed early.” Genette (1980:116) calls this type of statement the iterative narrative. It is tempting to consider expressions which contain kaiānamma (the whole time e.g. I:110&111), or 6 urrī 7 mūšī (6 days and 7 nights, e.g. I:177) may be a form of iterative narrative. In the sense of the classical novel they certainly are: they do function as an informative frame or background (Genette 1980:117), therefore they are rather subordinate to singulative scenes. This happens to be the case in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV). Genette (1980:118-160) goes into much detail as far as iterative narration is concerned. Typical expressions are each time that...or every now and then...which appear to be of great significance, not merely functioning as a background for a scene. A typical iterative novel would recount a series entitled something like Sundays in the summer of 1890 (Genette 1980: 127): what used to happen every Sunday during the summer months of 1980? In Genette’s discussion of the iterative narrative (cf. Genette 1980:118-160), it becomes clear that the ancient author does not appropriate this device with the same significance as Proust (or any author of the nouveau roman). Apparently seasons are irrelevant. The reader has to infer that Gilgamesh’s face that is burnt by heat and by cold is due to the many seasons that he roamed the plains (cf. the lamentations in tablet X). Days and months do play a role (cf. the trip towards the Cedar Forest in tablet V), but not weeks. (For example, do six days and seven nights constitute a week, or is it an idiomatic expression?) 5–150 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) The Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) seems less concerned about what used to happen every time or every now and then. It rather concentrates on what is about to happen and what is about to change. Life is short and intense in the first half of the Epic, but the implications of its brevity are not yet realised. In the second half the Epic death becomes a reality, but life also: Gilgamesh comes to the shocking insight that he has only one life, and that he has to make it work, with or without Enkidu (in the final instance without his friend). Probably he did pass the statue of his friend every Sunday; probably he did have recurring thoughts every time that he passed this statue. Perhaps these thoughts inspired him to be the wise and mature king who is lauded in the prologue. But the ancient author had enough trust in the capabilities of his reader to infer these possibilities, and therefore did not deem it necessary to state everything explicitly. Remarks Many literary devices are available to authors, whether they are post-modern or ancient. But availability does not imply necessity. A literary device needs to be functional for the narrative, otherwise it becomes a cerebral activity of which only the author is aware. Competent authors have the ability to distinguish between what is available and what is necessary. Neither Proust nor the author or the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) used all of the available literary devices. What is interesting is that the ancient author of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) did not have the faintest clue about Genette (1980 & 1988); but somehow he was instinctively aware of some aspects of narratological aesthetics. As far as time is concerned (which is discussed in this chapter), a remarkable sensitivity manifests for significant interruptions, for increasing or decreasing the pace of the narrative, and for repetitions. In this regard, one may conclude that the Epic of Gilgamesh was a remarkable literary masterpiece for its time, but not 5–151 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) only for its time. Modern readers are also able to appreciate the Epic by means of modern literary criteria. Genette (1980) pays considerable attention to the concept of time. Sternberg (1990:914) remarks – rather sharply: For anything like artistic status “narrative” must supposedly break away from the lifelike “story” because art works by deviance and disharmony. In this article Sternberg (1990:901-945) criticises structuralist theorists – and especially Genette – who over-emphasise the appropriation of chronological interruptions in the story line, as though this device is determinative for the artistic appreciation of a narrative. Does this imply that a chronological narration – like a historical recount, for example – is devoid of artistic narration? Sternberg (above) argues strongly against such an impression. And indeed, he is correct. Simple narratives are often touching, striking, exactly because they are told with the greatest simplicity. Thus, the discussion above – and that which is to follow, do not wish to create the impression that the Epic of Gilgamesh appeals to modern literary appraisal mainly due to its intricate temporal or other literary structures. The appropriation of Genette’s narrative model is rather to provide a tool that may contribute towards a fresh, perhaps even new understanding of the Epic. 2.2. Mood Narrative mood aims at the following: “one can tell more or tell less what one tells, and one can tell it according to one point of view or another” (Genette 1980:161-162). A narrative may choose to give detailed information to its readers, or choose to withhold some information deliberately; this information may be given in a direct or an indirect way, thereby keeping the reader at a closer or further distance. And in the final instance, characters in the narrative give information according to a particular perspective or point of view. In short: mood pertains to narrative distance and to narrative perspective. 5–152 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) 2.2.1. Distance Genette (1980:162-164) discusses the classical tradition that made a distinction between mimesis and diegesis. The later Anglo American theorists called this distinction showing and telling, or direct and indirect speech. Mimesis imitates reality, diegesis only describes it. However, for Genette there can be no imitation or mimesis in narrative art, but only an illusion of mimesis (Genette 1980:164). Dramatic presentations, for example in live performances (theatre or cinema) are true mimeses, but a narrative can only aim at telling its story in a lively and vivid manner. Genette (1980:164) language, Still, this does not show or imitate the story: states that “...narration, oral or written, and language signifies without imitating.” is a fact of By this statement Genette agrees with the structuralists that the relationship between signifier and signified is arbitrary. So, it seems that mimesis in narrative discourse is impossible. Only degrees of mimesis remain, and in this regard Genette (1980:164) distinguishes between a narrative of events and a narrative of words. Genette (1980:164-165) elaborates on the traditional difference between mimesis and diegesis by referring to a passage of Homer that is rephrased by Plato. Traditionally a mimetic representation (like the one of Homer) is quite elaborate, informing the reader or listener about all the detail, facial expressions, sound and so forth. A diegetic reformulation (like the one of Plato) on the other hand, is much shorter, omitting descriptive detail, and is therefore less realistic. But this distinction is illusionary, because a narrative, whether of words or of events is always only but a narrative. 1) A Narrative of Events A narrative of events is a “transcription of the (supposed) non-verbal into the verbal” (Genette 1980:165), thus, a narrative of events is but an illusion of 5–153 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) mimesis. This mimetic effect is not fixed and is also not an inherent quality of the narrative text, but it depends on the various perceptions of the different readers. For example, one reader may perceive the Epic of Gilgamesh as very alive and real, to another the same narrative may appear distant, strange and rather far-fetched. Genette does not elaborate on the reasons for this difference in appreciation. An illusion of mimesis in a narrative text is achieved by means of two factors: “the quantity of narrative information (a more developed or more detailed narrative) and the absence (or minimal presence) of the informer - in other words, of the narrator” (Genette 1980:166). What he actually means is that the illusion of mimesis in a narrative text is determined by how much is said and by whom. A mimetic effect is created when much information is given but the contributions of the informer are minimal. Dialogue is a very typical way to bring about mimesis. The informer is absent, as it were, the characters themselves are speaking. As it appeared in the previous discussion, the first half of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) consists mainly of short dramatic scenes and of dialogue. The narrator seems to disappear from the narrative soon after the prologue. The reader or the listener comes right into the heart of Uruk where Gilgamesh is harassing his people. One is immediately drawn into the scene of hard labour, power abuse, unbridled energy and protest. From the beginning of the point in time where the story starts, a convincing illusion of mimesis is created by the narrative of events. Nevertheless, in this regard it is important to note that, although the narrator seemed to have disappeared, he did not really vanish, in fact, he is still “present as a source, guarantor, and organizer (sic) of the narrative, as analyst and commentator, as stylist and particularly as producer of metaphors” (Genette 1980:167). The narrator is not passively looking on, but he or she is actively taking part in the narrative discourse. He or she did not simply go away, his or her presence only becomes less obvious. But he or she is still the 5–154 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) one who makes use of the narrative of events to create an effect in a particular way. In the case of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) the narrator chose to be present in a very unobtrusive way. He announces himself in the first line of the prologue, and never again. However, he manages to arrange his material skilfully and to make the events appear alive and real. As has been said, dramatic scenes (narratives of events) mark the first half of the Epic. In the second half of the Epic these narratives of events are restricted to the minimum. Yet the narrator continues with his task of arranging his material, but this time by means of narratives of words - which are discussed in the next section. 2) A Narrative of Words Once again Genette (1980:169-170) uses the example from Homer’s Iliad and the way that Plato rephrased it to illustrate the difference between what was traditionally known as direct and indirect speech. Genette complicates this matter by discerning the following types of discourse (cf also Rimmon 1976:49): imitated discourse, narratized (sic) discourse and transposed discourse (Genette 1980:171-172). Imitated or reported discourse is dialogue that is recorded by the narrator, in other words, what used to be direct speech. Narratised discourse is dialogue that is summarised by a conspicuous narrator - or what used to be indirect speech. However, both Genette (1980:170) and Bal (1986:39) point out that narratised discourse is strictly speaking no different from a narrative of events. It becomes part of the narrative discourse and is treated just like any other event. Transposed discourse is rather interesting as this is dialogue that the narrator renders in an indirect way, however, still preserving the character’s own words. This form of speech is also called free indirect speech. 5–155 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) In terms of distance, imitated discourse or direct speech creates the strongest illusion of mimesis, character. the smallest distance between the reader and the Narratised discourse on the other hand is far more diegetic by nature and would have the reader at a greater distance. Somewhere in between falls transposed discourse or free indirect speech. The Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) uses only imitated or reported discourse. True enough, the introduction to this type of discourse is rather lengthy and usually follows the formula ... X pâšu ipšuma iqabbi X opened his mouth, he says ana Y amat izakkar to Y a word he says... ... but in this regard one needs to keep ancient literary conventions in mind. This was simply the way in which direct speech was introduced. The two other forms of speech, narratised discourse and transposed discourse are not used in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV). Immediate speech is the term Genette (1980:173) uses for what used to be called interior monologue. The reader is brought directly into the thoughts of the character and the distance between them is eliminated. Two cases of this type of discourse appear in the Epic of Gilgamesh: Siduri and Uta-napishtim. Siduri sees Gilgamesh approaching from afar and thinks by herself that he may be a murderer (X:11-13). Also Uta-napishtim sees him from afar and wonders by himself why the Stone Things of the boat are broken, why she is sailing without her equipment and concludes that the person who is on his way is not one of his household (X:182-187). However, in the course of Genette’s discussion it becomes clear that immediate speech is really functional in cases where a specific character is permanent in the narrative and the reader gains insight into why he or she does 5–156 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) certain things - or why not. Siduri and Uta-napishtim are rather different. Both these characters are new introductions into the narrative. They are part of their own story and will go back to it soon after their brief encounter with poor Gilgamesh. Their main role is to convince the main character that his quest for life eternal is a futile endeavour. The reader has enough insight into Gilgamesh’s case; the only insight given by the immediate speech of Siduri and Uta-napishtim is that they are baffled by his tattered appearance. Once again it appears that the nouveau roman appropriates the device of immediate speech far more deliberately than the roman ancien did. Neither Siduri not Uta-napishtim tells the reader anything he or she does not know already. Remarks The Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) maintains an intimate mood by keeping the distance between the reader, the events and words in the narrative small. The first half of the Epic consists mainly of narratives of events. These do not give much detail, often scenes are depicted in short and abrupt poetic lines. Nevertheless, this does not seem to make these events less real. On the contrary, the narrator skilfully succeeds in maintaining the illusion of mimesis by enhancing the impression of intense and focused action. There is simply no time for unnecessary detail. The second half of the Epic consists mainly of narratives of words, only in the form of imitated or reported speech. Dialogues are long, often giving the impression of being monologues. This is especially obvious in the cases where Gilgamesh verbalises his sorrow about his departed friend: to Shamash, to the Scorpion people, to Siduri, to Urshanabi and to Uta-napishtim. There are many repetitions that verge upon redundancy. 5–157 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) Yet because these dialogues are imitated or reported discourse, they also create an alive and a present mood: these are the actual words that were spoken by the characters themselves. Regardless of how long and drawn out, or how short and abrupt these speeches were, the narrator did not tamper with what was said or with how it was said. The characters speak for themselves. 2.2.2. Focalisation (Mieke Bal (1986:108-123) has elaborated extensively on the matter of focalisation. This chapter in her work, De Theorie van Vertellen en Verhalen is highly recommended. However, in the discussion which is about to follow, it will become clear that most of the categories of focalisation are far too sophisticated to be applied to the Epic of Gilgamesh. completeness they will be discussed, For the sake of but in a very brief manner. Nevertheless, the whole matter of focalisation is important, and cannot be omitted completely.) Culler (in his foreword to Genette 1980:10) observes: “Insistence on the difference between narration and focalization (sic) is a major revision of the theory of point of view.” Traditionally point of view used to pertain to categories such as first-person or third-person narratives, or subjective/objective narratives. The narrator was either present as a character in the narrative (a first-person or subjective narrative), or he/she was merely telling the story of someone else (a third-person or objective narrative). The question one needed to answer was: from whose point of view is this story being told? However, recent literary theorists propose that this distinction is rather misleading because it suffers “from a regrettable confusion between what I call here mood and voice, a confusion between the question who is the character whose point of view orients the narrative perspective? and the very different question who sees? and the question who speaks?” (Genette 1980:186). Bal 5–158 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) (1986:110) is perhaps more clearly than Genette in this regard. She simply states: “A vertelt dat B ziet wat C doet.” A tells that B sees what C does. Now the whole matter of perspective or point of view becomes quite complicated. The concern is no longer about a first-person or third-person narrative, but from whose point of view the events or actions are perceived. This is called focalisation. Of course, there are narratives with zero focalisation - or non-focalised narratives. This corresponds to a narrative with an omniscient narrator who knows more than any of the characters. Many classical narratives use this style, however, if one reads very closely, zero focalisation is not really sustained throughout: the case is rather that the device of focalisation is not exploited in the same manner as the nouveau roman. Genette (1980:189) distinguishes two types of focalisation in a narrative: (i) Narrative with internal focalisation of which the focalisation may be fixed or variable. When the focalisation is fixed, the whole story is told from the perspective of only one of the characters; variable focalisation has different focal characters in the same story; and multiple focalisation has the same story told from the different perspectives of several characters. The narrator who is focalising through the eyes of one or more of the characters, knows only as much as the character does, no more, no less. (ii) Narrative with external focalisation. Spy narratives often focalise in this way. The character, usually the hero, knows much more than the narrator is willing to disclose. Usually (but not necessarily) narratives vary in the way the narrator chooses to focalise. These variations in point of view are called alterations (Genette 5–159 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) 1980:194-197). These can also be described as momentary infractions. Genette distinguishes between paralipses and paralepses. Paralipsis is the usual type of internal focalisation. Some important information - an action or a thought - on the part of the focal hero is withheld, in other words, less information than is necessary is given to the reader. Paralepsis is the opposite case of focalisation that can be external or internal. In this case the reader is supplied with more information than is necessary. These types of focalisations are usually appropriated to regulate the information in a narrative text. Perhaps Genette (1980:198) sums it up best in his own words: “Narrative always says less than it knows, but it often makes known more than it says.” Polymodality is the last type of focalisation Genette (1980: 198-211) discusses. Polymodality pertains to autobiographical narratives in which the narrator is supposed to be the one who focalises. But in post-modern novels focalisation by the narrator as hero-character of his or her own story, or as real author in the sense of an omniscient narrator, becomes blurred. Remarks Thus, as it was pointed out right at the beginning of this section, the whole concept of focalisation is far better appropriated by the nouveau roman than by the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV). However, this ancient Epic does contain focalisations through the eyes of some of the very minor characters, and pertain mostly to the perception of either Enkidu or Gilgamesh. The hunter sees Enkidu and becomes frightened because he perceives him as a savage beast (I:96-103); the animals see Enkidu and they run away because they perceive him as a human being, no longer as one of their kind (I:180). Ishtar sees Gilgamesh (tablet IV) and is overcome with passionate desire. Siduri sees him and perceives him as a murderer (X:10-13); Uta-napishtim sees him 5–160 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) and recognises him as a stranger (X:182-187). But these focalisations appear rather naïve and not really of great significance. What is startling though, is the focalisation that is embedded in the very first line or the prologue (Parpola’s 1997 transliteration): Of the Deep that he saw, I must tell the land. Even the incipit of George (2003:539) hints strongly at focalisation: He who saw the Deep... A tells that B saw something. Initially the Epic of Gilgamesh appears as a narrative that is being told mainly from the perspective of an omniscient narrator, therefore a narrative that contains zero focalisation, typical of classical narratives. But everything changes if one realises that what is being told, is that which he - Gilgamesh saw. Gilgamesh is the one who saw, who focalised in the first place. The object of his focalisation is the Deep - or everything according to some translations. acquired. This Deep/everything pertains to his life and the wisdom he However, he acquires wisdom only after he brings his life into perspective, only after he perceives and re-interprets the narrative of his life. In this way the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) becomes a process of focalisation. From the top of the walls of Uruk the narrator is telling but also re-focalising the life of Gilgamesh. He is inviting the reader to do the same. Together they look at the life of the arrogant young king who fearlessly defies men, gods and monsters. They see the agony Gilgamesh goes through when Enkidu dies. And they perceive the futility of the quest for life eternal. Somehow telling and seeing becomes totally blurred. The narrator of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) cleverly disguised focalisation as narrative, thereby confusing who is seeing and who is telling in a challenging way. Long time ago, from the top of these very walls, Gilgamesh also focalised his life. The Deep becomes the narrative of his life as he focalises it through tears of grief and shame. Despite killing monsters and defying the great gods in his 5–161 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) youth, his behaviour as king was not exactly honourable. He disintegrated completely when he was confronted with failure and loss. Yet, somehow back at the walls of Uruk, he manages to pull himself together. He focalised, he saw the Deep; now he realises that he must go on, but not in the way that he used to. Focalisation brings insight and wisdom. 2.3. Voice Narrator is usually the term that is used for the one who tells (Rimmon-Kenan 1983:88), but once again Genette (1980:212) perceives the matter of telling in broader sense and uses the term voice to refer to the narrating instance, “the mode of action...of the verb considered for its relations to the subject...” The subject may be the person who does the narrating, but it may also be the one who does the reporting, in fact, subject pertains to every one who participates in the narrating activity, even passively. Of course one needs to keep in mind that there is a relationship between the act of narrating (telling) and the instance of narrating (narrator) who is performing the action. Consequently critics often mistakenly identify the “narrating instance with the instance of writing, the narrator with the author and the receiver of the narrative with the reader of the work” (Genette 1980:213). Genette (1980:213-214) makes it quite clear that the narrating instance differs from the writing instance. The real author - the writing instance - is closely involved in the action of writing, however, the narrating instance has a fictive role, even if the real author decides to play this part. Bal (1986:124-125) points out that narrating instance pertains to a linguistic instance, and its function is purely textual. The narrating instance has nothing to do with a real person in the sense of someone who is telling his or her personal story, even if this narrative is an autobiography. It is very important to realise that one cannot make any assumptions about the narrating instance outside of the text, even if he or she happens to be the real author and one happens to know some 5–162 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) personal detail. So, the narrating instance or voice is the instance who - or rather which - is telling, it is a linguistic construct performing a textual function. Voice in narrative discourse has a relationship to the following three elements: time of narrating, narrative level and “person” (Genette 1980:215). These elements are in fact closely intertwined and function simultaneously, they are only being separated for the purposes of analysis. 2.3.1. Time of narrating The narrating instance is in a particular position with respect to the story events that it is reporting: “I can very well tell a story without specifying the place where it happens, and whether this place is more or less distant from the place where I am telling it; nevertheless, it is almost impossible for me not to locate the story in time with respect to my narrating act, since I must necessarily tell the story in the present, past, or future tense”, (Genette 1980:215). So, restated and oversimplified: is the voice, the narrating instance telling its story in the present, past or future tense? Obviously and quite logically one may assume that events can only be reported only after they had happened, therefore in the past tense (Rimmon-Kenan 1983:90). Genette (1980:217) complicates this logical assumption by designating four temporal possibilities with regard to the distance between the actual time of the story events and the time that they are reported: subsequent narrating; prior narrating; simultaneous narrating and interpolated narrating. 1) Subsequent narrating This is the classical past- tense narrative. Most narratives are written in this style, namely in the past tense. The story events and the act of narrating appear to correspond temporally, because the past tense is used for both. Usually the interval between the occurrence of the events and the narrating is 5–163 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) not indicated, and usually it is not important to know this. Genette (1980:220) calls this an “ageless past”. Indeed, subsequent narrating in the Epic of Gilgamesh does convey something of an “ageless past”. The voice or narrating instance reports that it is about to tell of the things of ancient times. And the narrating instance uses mostly the preterite tense, but quite often also the praesens. Genette (1980:220-221) notes that some narratives, although they are written as subsequent narrating, do make use of the present tense, either at the beginning or at the end. Especially when the praesens is used at the end of the narrative, the effect is that the temporal interval between story time and narrating time seems to lessen, and a convergence between the two seems to take place. Also on a diegetical level a convergence seems to occur between the story and its narrator. Indeed, the last lines of the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) (XI:314-320) are written in the praesens, the words that Gilgamesh speaks to Urshanabi the boatman. The dramatic effect of the convergence between story time and narrating time, and of story and its narrator is enhanced by the fact that Gilgamesh at the end uses the same words that the anonymous narrator used at the beginning of the narrative. As it was pointed out in the section on analepsis and prolepsis, present, past and future merge in a striking and significant way. Yet, the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) is not really concerned about temporal durations or intervals. These convergences - of present and past, of story and its narrator - happen on the walls of Uruk. In this regard place is far more significant than time. In the beginning of the narrative, the voice, the narrator starts to tell the story of Gilgamesh from the walls of Uruk, and right at the end of the narrative, once again back on the walls of Uruk the voice becomes the voice of Gilgamesh who is telling his own story. In this Epic it is not only a temporal aspect that brings past and present together, but also a matter of locality, or place. The whole poem is enclosed by the walls of Uruk. 5–164 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) 2) Prior narrating Very few narratives are written throughout in the style of prior narrating, as it is very difficult to sustain this way of narrating from the beginning to the end of narrative discourse (Genette 1980:219-220). Prior narrating is the characteristic style of prophetic and apocalyptic literature, but if it does occur in other narrative genres, it is usually narratives on a second level and mainly in the form of prolepses. Prolepses in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) have been discussed in the previous section of this chapter (cf2.1.1b). 3) Simultaneous narrating These are narratives written in the present tense and are according to Genette (1980:218) the simplest. Although most of the dialogues in the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) are written in the praesens, the preterite is the tense that dominates; the use of the praesens seems to be more a matter of convention than fulfilling a particular function in the narrative. 4) Interpolated narrating Interpolated narrating is the most complex style of the four. Narrating and story alternate in such a way that the story has an effect on the narrating (Genette 1980:217). This is especially the case in epistolary novels where, as we know, the letter is at the same time both a medium of the narrative and an element in the plot. This type of narrating has no bearing on the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV). 2.3.2. Narrative levels Drastically oversimplified, narrative levels pertain to a story within a story. Some confusion exists with regards to the terminology that the different critics 5–165 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) use to designate these different levels. Rimmon-Kenan (1983:91) refers to subordination relations for which she uses the term hypodiegetic levels. Genette (1980:228) prefers the term metadiegetic for narratives on a different level from the diegetic one. In his later work (Genette 1988:87) he explains that the so-called primary narrative is not necessarily the most important one. In fact, it may be the case that the so-called secondary narratives are far more significant and functional than the primary one. hypodiegetic is not really suitable, Therefore the term because hypodiegetic does imply a relationship of subordination. So, by using the term metadiegetic, he simply systemises the traditional concept of embedded narratives. And he (Genette 1980:228) stresses that the relationship between primary and secondary levels of diegesis is one of dependency, not one of hierarchy. Genette (1980:228) states: “We will define this difference in level by saying that any event a narrative recounts is at a diegetic level immediately higher than the level at which the narrating act producing this narrative is placed.” definition is rather unclear, This therefore a short explanation will be given. A narrator is either part of the story events he/she is recounting, or not involved at all. In the last case, a narrator who stands outside of the story events, is on an extradiegetic level. A narrator who is involved in the story, reports on an intradiegetic level. Thus, diegesis denotes the narrative, and a narrator is either outside or inside a particular diegetic level. When an intradiegetic narrator tells a story at a different or deeper diegetic level, a secondary narrative is created on a metadiegetic level. As regards the terms extradiegetic, diegetic and metadiegetic, one must not assume that it is obvious that extradiegetic pertains to story - or to historical existence - and diegetic or metadiegetic further from the truth. to fiction (Genette 1980:230). Nothing could be Even a real author who assumes the role of an extradiegetic narrator, has a fictive role. 5–166 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) 1) Metadiegetic narrative Metadiegetic narrative, a story within a story, or mise en abyme is a very old technique that Genette (1980:231-234) traces back to Books IX-XII in the Odyssey. But long before the Odyssey the Epic of Gilgamesh (SBV) used the same technique by inserting the Atrahasis Epic - the recount of the Deluge into the primary narrative of Gilgamesh’s story. This is absolutely a pure form of a metadiegetic narrative: Uta-napishtim, who is actually a character in the primary narrative becomes the narrator of the secondary one in which Gilgamesh is the narratee. Genette (1980:232) differentiates three main types of relationships that connect the metadiegetic narrative to the main one into which it is inserted: i) Direct causality. In other words, there is a causal relationship between the first and the second narrative. Characters and/or events on the second narrative level explain why something on the first level of diegesis happened or did not happen. The narrative on the second level explains “what events have led to the present situation” (Genette 1980:232). The function of the narrating instance is to link the two narratives together and it does so by making the direct causal relationship obvious. ii) A thematic relationship (Genette 1980:233). There is no temporal or spatial connection between diegesis and metadiegesis. The relationship is purely thematic which may be a relationship of contrast of one of analogy. The Atrahasis Epic that is embedded in the Epic of Gilgamesh has greater significance, but temporally there is no connection: Uta-napishtim’s story happened a long time ago that is before and during the Deluge. Spatially there is also no connection: Gilgamesh wishes to live forever in his city, Uruk: 5–167 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) Uta-napishtim used to live in Surripak as a mortal, but now he lives for ever beyond the Waters of Death. The relationship between the two narratives is one of contrast: Uta-napishtim managed to gain life eternal, but Gilgamesh needs to come to terms with the reality that he is going to die. This indirect relationship between the narrating instance of the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Atrahasis Epic is effected by the narratives themselves. iii) No explicit relationship. In this case no causal or thematic relationship exists between the diegesis and the metadiegesis. Metadiegetic content does not matter at all, but it is the act of narrating itself that fulfils a function in the diegesis (Genette 1980:233). The most classic example of metadiegetic narratives of this type is A Thousand and One Nights. Scheherezade has to tell a different story every night in order to keep the king interested and to save her life. The functions of these kinds of narratives are usually distraction or obstruction. At this point one may question the Shamhat-Enkidu episode that starts with the creation of Enkidu and ends where Enkidu and Gilgamesh meet. Strictly speaking this is not really a metadiegetic narrative because the narrator who is telling the story is the same narrator of the primary one. Yet, the first narrative is interrupted, not by means of an analepsis or a prolepsis, but with a different narrative that occurs simultaneously with the primary one. It introduces its own main character, Enkidu. Is this a causal relationship? Yes, but in this case the primary narrative caused the events on the second one to take place, therefore one may perhaps term this relationship as an inverted causal one. Then, at a certain point in time the two narratives do blend to become one primary narrative with its two main characters: Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Enkidu’s death he is not forgotten - on the contrary! 5–168 Even after University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) In this case one may conclude that, although the Enkidu-narrative interrupts the narrative of Gilgamesh-proper (after all, Gilgamesh was carrying on with his reign of terror in Uruk whilst Enkidu was peacefully roaming the plains), this is still part of the Gilgamesh-narrative. The narrator simply needs to explain who Enkidu is, where did he come from, and why must he be there. Therefore, the Enkidu-narrative seems to be a secondary narrative that overtakes the existing primary narrative temporarily to become a primary one in its own right. Only when it catches up with the narrative of Gilgamesh, one is baffled: exactly what is primary and/or secondary? Enkidu is a hero. Unlike Uta-napishtim whose introduction is brief and whose disappearance is equally sudden, Enkidu remains an important character until the bitter end. His life as well as his death influences just about everything that happens on the first level of diegesis. Somehow a temporal intertwining takes place. The narratives of Gilgamesh and Enkidu start off separately, then they become enmeshed. Even after Enkidu is supposed to disappear from the story, he is present. His death motivates the theme of the second half of the Epic: the quest for life eternal. Both Gilgamesh and Enkidu have a narrative. They met, and their narratives interlocked. They became so much part of each other’s story that the critic cannot determine what is primary, secondary, diegetic or metadiegetic. And somehow Genette’s (1980) analyses do not really help to solve this problem. Perhaps one must conclude that just as inseparable as the narratives of Gilgamesh and Enkidu, were the two friends themselves - in life and in death. 2) Metalepsis Genette (1980:234-235) uses the term narrative metalepsis for “any intrusion by the extradiegetic narrator or narratee into the diegetic universe (or by diegetic characters into a metadiegetic universe, etc.)...[that] produces an effect of strangeness that is either comical...or fantastic.” This happens when the 5–169 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) boundaries between the different narrative levels are disturbed (cf also Genette 1988:88), for example when a real author or a real reader introduces himself or herself into the fictive world of the narrative, or vice versa, when a fictive character introduces itself into the world of the author or the reader. “The world in which one tells becomes the world of which one tells” (Genette 1980:236). Especially post-modern literature is very aware of a reality out there and a reality on paper and exploits this realisation to the utmost. Ontological boundary is the term that indicates the separation between the world outside of the text (the real world), and the world of the text (cf McHale 1987:201). Real authors are consciously aware of the fact that they are transgressing an ontological boundary when they transpose themselves and their personal experience of writing this particular novel into this particular novel. He or she may even take a break from the novel, does something else – to take a vacation for a week or so, or to go shopping for groceries. Likewise a character of the world of the text, may remind the real author that he or she has the power to kill off any character that happens to be in disfavour within the next few lines. Self-consciousness is the key word in this regard: the author knows that he/she is entering the world on paper, and the characters know that they are transgressing their boundaries of text. The Epic of Gilgamesh does not transcend ontological boundaries in this dramatic way. However, the narratee does get the uncanny feeling of crossing some sort of reality at the narrator’s personal invitation to climb on top of the walls of Uruk and admire the surroundings (I:11-17). Sure enough, narratee never becomes a character but neither does the narrator. the Both narrator and narratee remain spectators, witnesses of a real life drama that is playing off in front of their very eyes. Somehow the world of which is told becomes the world in which is being told. 5–170 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) 2.3.3. Person On reaching this last section of Genette’s Narrative Discourse (1980), one starts to realise that the heading Character is not going to appear. Nowhere does Genette discuss matters like flat or round characters, character development or any other special criteria that may be applied to character. Is this a shortcoming in Genette’s model, or are there reasons for this omission? Apparently for Genette character is so much interwoven into the structural devices of the narrative discourse that a separate category would be unnecessary. Character seems to fuse into denotations of narrator and narratee (discussion follows), into matters like focalisation (cf 2.2.2 of this chapter) and so forth. In other words, character is structured by the various devices of the narrative. Mimetic or emotional attributes are strictly shunned. The character finds himself or herself somewhere inside or outside a particular narrative level, partaking either actively or passively in aspects of tense, mood and voice. Thus, it appears that Genette regards character as being incorporated sufficiently by his other categories, therefore it does not deserve a special heading. 1) Narrator Genette (1980:243-244) describes the usual terms first person - or third-person narrative as “inadequate, in that they stress variation in the element of the narrative situation that is in fact invariant - to wit, the presence (explicit or implicit) of the ‘person’ of the narrator.” A narrator can be present in his or her narrative only in the first person: the author or the novelist may choose to have a story told by one of its characters, or by a narrator outside of it. For a narrator who occupies a position outside of the story he or she is telling, Genette (1980:245) uses the term heterodiegetic, and for a narrator who is also a character in the story, he uses the term homodiegetic. 5–171 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) The narrator’s status is defined both by narrative level (i.e. extra- or intradiegetic) and by its relationship to the narrative (Genette 1980:245). There are four basic types of a narrator’s status: (1) extradiegetic – heterodiegetic (2) extradiegetic – homodiegetic (3) intradiegetic - heterodiegetic (4) intradiegetic – homodiegetic The narrator in the Epic of Gilgamesh is obviously an extradiegetic one who occupies a heterodiegetic position with respect to the narrative. completely absent from the story he is telling - that is, He is until one gets the sudden and overwhelming impression that the narrator is actually Gilgamesh who is telling his own story. However, this only happens in the last lines of the Epic, and until then the narrator remains an extradiegetic - heterodiegetic one. On a metadiegic level, that is on the level of the narrative of the Deluge, Utanapishtim becomes the narrator of his own story. He is thus a narrator with an intradiegetic-homodiegetic status. However, Genette (1980:245) points out that not all narrators are equally present in the story that they tell. A narrator can either be the hero of his or her own story, or merely be a witness or observer of someone else’s story. Hero-narrators of the homodiegetic kind, Genette calls autodiegetic. Utnapishtim is the undisputable hero of his own narrative, thus becoming a narrator with an autodiegetic intradiegetic - homodiegetic status. The primary function of the narrator is of course to tell the story. But once again Genette (1980:255) points out that this matter is far more complicated than it seems at first sight. The functions of the narrator are connected to several aspects of narrative. 5–172 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) As it was said, the first and obvious aspect of narrative is the story to be told. The function connected to the story is the narrative function - to tell. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the narrator tells the story of Gilgamesh. The narrative text is the second aspect of a narrative. The function of the narrator in this regard is metalinguistic, which pertains to the internal organisation of the text by means of articulations, connections and interrelations. This has to do with the way in which the story material is arranged, and how the matters of time, mood and voice are appropriated. The narrating situation is the third aspect of narrative. The narrator and the narratee - present, absent or implied - are involved, because the function of the narrator is to establish or to maintain a relationship with the narratee. Genette (1980:256) also calls this function the function of communication. It has been said that the narrator of the Epic of Gilgamesh tries to establish this relationship at the very beginning of his act of narrating: apparently he assumes that this relationship will be maintained throughout the narrative discourse because he never refers to the narratee again, except for that open invitation in the beginning of the Epic. The last function is the testimonial function, or the function of attestation. This function pertains to the relationship the narrator has with the story that he/she is telling and concerns his or her emotions. The nature of this relationship is affective, but could also be a moral or an intellectual one. “But the narrator’s interventions, direct or indirect, with regard to the story can also take the more didactic form of an authorized (sic) commentary on the action. This is an assertion of what could be called the narrator’s ideological function; (Genette 1980:256), and this last function certainly pertains to the Epic of Gilgamesh. He witnesses the foolish behaviour of the immature braggart, he empathises with the loss of a dear comrade and friend, and he even partakes in the whole futile quest for life eternal in a very emotional manner. Never does he judge which of these actions are morally acceptable and which are not. He leaves it to the narratee who is witnessing along with him to decide for himself of herself. However, he also witnesses at the end that Gilgamesh’s life did not work out in the way that he wished. His people were not happy with his arrogance. His 5–173 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) best friend died. He failed two vital tests and came to the depressing realisation that he is not going to obtain life eternal, no matter how hard he tries. And this hard lesson is not told by means of didactic instructions that have to be memorised. It is done by means of telling a story. 2) Narratee Genette (1980) does not devote many pages to the role of the narratee with regards to the narrative. Only the last three pages of his book pertain to this person. Obviously he does not really say very much. “Like the narrator, the narratee is not one of the elements in the narrating situation, and he (sic) is necessarily located at the same diegetic level; that is, he does not merge a priori with the reader (even an implied reader) any more than the narrator necessarily merges with the author” (Genette 1980:259). From this follows a relationship of correspondence: an intradiegetic narrator would correspond to an intradiegetic narratee, whilst an extradiegetic narrator addresses an extradiegetic narratee. The Epic of Gilgamesh starts with the latter case: both narrator and narratee are extradiegetic with regards to the diegetic level of the narrative. But within the metadiegetic narrative Uta-napishtim (a character on the primary level of diegesis) becomes the narrator of his own story as he addresses Gilgamesh (also a character on the primary level of diegesis) who now becomes the narratee on the second level of diegesis. And so forth. However, in terms of the didactic, moral and ideological implications (cf previous discussion), the narrative does not end with the return of Gilgamesh to the walls of Uruk. At the end of the narrative the narratee is witnessing a life style that does not work. However, somehow Gilgamesh must have achieved success - it says so in the beginning of the narrative. With this knowledge it is now up to the narratee to muster all his or her creative abilities and write his or her own narrative: a narrative of what really makes sense in life. And all this is done in a very indirect and subtle way: once again, by means of telling a story, this time his or her own. 5–174 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) 3. Discussion of the Epic in terms of Genette’s model One has to admit that Genette’s model is rather sophisticated and not all of its components apply to the Epic of Gilgamesh. However, some interesting features did come to light. It appeared that the ancient author was not really concerned about exact points in time, therefore many observances on time (i.e. order, duration and frequency) were inferred indirectly, rather than being deduced from obvious textual information. For example, are Ninsun’s dreams analepses or prolepses? In what way does the duration of Enkidu’s roaming the plains coincide with the duration of Gilgamesh’s reign of terror in Uruk? For how long did Gilgamesh wander around in search of everlasting life? But do these uncertainties matter? The category of frequency illustrated the relentless nature of the trip towards the Cedar Forest, the urgency of having to complete the journey through the tunnel of the (S)sun in time, and the endless depressing thoughts that occupied Gilgamesh’s mind as he ventured in search of life eternal. The inclusio effected by the lines I:16-21 and XI:315-320 makes the actual duration of time irrelevant. Time itself becomes significant in the way that present, past and future merge exactly because specific durations are omitted. The criteria of timelessness, agelessness and universal meaning are those of the New Critics: however, the Epic of Gilgamesh becomes timeless, ageless and universal in a striking manner. It pertains to the past, present and future of everyone who was or is serious about the meaning of life. Mood illustrated the intimate and lively way in which the narrator tells his story. Intense dramatic scenes alternating with dialogue in the form of reported speech mark the first half of the Epic. In the second half of the Epic, imitated or reported speech dominate, often so drawn out that these dialogues create the impression of being the same monologue, repeated over and over. But 5–175 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) Gilgamesh is driven by his grief over the death of his friend and by his own fear for death. Reported speech stresses the obsessive-compulsive nature of Gilgamesh’s behaviour as he roams the steppe until he reaches Uta-napishtim. Focalisation (which is a sub-category of mood) seemed straightforward at first, until one discovers the focalisation that is embedded in the first line of the Epic. Then one realises that this whole narrative is in fact a focalisation, a perspective on life itself. Voice examined the matter of the narrator and various positions the narrating instance may occupy with regards to the various levels of diegesis. In this case it appeared that the narrator of the Epic of Gilgamesh, although he occupies an extra-diegetic position, is very much concerned about the story he is telling. He remains close to the story events he is recounting and he wishes to create the same interest in the narratee by inviting him or her into the majestic city of Uruk. However, the didactic ideological function of the narrator is effected by leaving the narrative open-ended, by not disclosing any final message. By means of circular reasoning to and from Uruk, it is left to the devices of every narratee to work out for himself or herself just how did the tear-stained and heart-broken man at the end of the Epic become the brave and wise king of the prologue. Remarks The Epic of Gilgamesh started confidently and proudly on the city walls of Uruk. It ended in exactly the same manner at the same place: on the walls of Uruk. Many events took place within these walls as well as outside of their enclosure. Dreams were dreamt of coming events. Dreams actually came true: a friendship was formed. There was dramatic and intensive action. The ladder of success was being climbed rapidly, regardlessly, too urgently and too quickly for anyone to keep up. 5–176 University of Pretoria etd – De Villiers, G (2005) Then death struck. Fear would not leave, it kept on coming back. There were also painful memories that would not go away. The initial success story became one of failure. From the top of the success ladder a process of tumbling down had begun until rock bottom was hit. However, together with shock and humiliation came insight into what life is really all about. All the events begin and end at Uruk. This points to an important element that is missing in Genette’s theory: he has no category for place. The reason is fairly obvious: Genette is a structuralist. Place – whether Uruk or New York is a literary construction, not a place that one can locate on a map. The walls of Uruk in the beginning and at the end of the Epic serve to form a literary structural inclusio to the Epic – such an inclusio may equally have been effected by the highways to New York. For the structuralists the only reality is that which appear on paper – or stone – in other words, reality is textual by nature. However, these sturdy city walls probably meant to the ancient author and the ancient recipients more than a literary construct. To them they symbolised many things: power, honour, cultural progression, civilisation, security (see chapter 3). Furthermore, Uruk was a very special city: she represented the old Sumerian culture, and the glory and romance associated with ancient times. The following chapter will deal with a critique on structuralist theories in more detail. However, these brief remarks intended to convey the following: a structural narratological analysis does bring matters to the fore which may otherwise be overlooked. But there are also matters that are more than literary constructs – in the frame of reference of authors and readers alike. 5–177
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